


Learn Your Place

by ThatFeanorian



Series: To Build The Bonds That Tie [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 'everyone else matters more than me', Anxiety Attacks, Brotherly Love, Developing Friendships, Explicit Language, Family Drama, Family Feels, Low Self-Esteem, Mae is bullied, Mae's tolerance is too high, Self-Doubt, gay shaming, we do not condone nor support this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatFeanorian/pseuds/ThatFeanorian
Summary: Maedhros knows what his job is: to take care of his brothers. they have always come first and always will. Still, some days that burden on top of all the others he has given himself just feels like too much.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë & Finrod Felegund | Findaráto, Caranthir | Morifinwë & Maedhros | Maitimo, Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Maedhros | Maitimo, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Maedhros | Maitimo, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Series: To Build The Bonds That Tie [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710157
Comments: 23
Kudos: 44





	1. The Power of a Name

**Author's Note:**

> There is major (explicit) LGBTQ shaming in this chapter, based upon the experiences of a very close friend. I know how intense that can be and how sensitive many people are around this, so if you do not feel comfortable with this, stop after Maedhros leaves the bathroom and begin again in the next chapter. Still, as Maedhros' experiences with that bullying are a major plot point in this story, I do recommend reading that part.
> 
> Ages:  
> Maedhros - 13  
> Mag - 11  
> Cel - 9  
> Moryo - 6

Maedhros loves school. His teachers, the subjects, the thrill that comes with learning, all of it is beautiful, and more often than not leaves him with a smile on his face that somehow refuses to go away. Still, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Maedhros loved school, because now, sitting in the car as Fëanor drops he and Maglor off for the day, Maedhros is suddenly unsure as to whether he wants to go inside at all. Maglor bounces out without a backwards glance, high-fiving two different boys and laughing by the time he reaches the door, but Maedhros remains in his seat on the pretence of checking his bag for his pencil. A little ball of apprehension presses upwards against his lungs, causing mild panic that has nothing at all to do with the existence (or lack thereof) of a pencil within his bag. Maedhros has carried at least ten with him everywhere he goes since the first day of sixth grade when he forgot to bring any at all. 

No, this fear has everything to do with the school itself, where Maedhros feels out of place with no close friends to speak of. It wasn’t nearly so difficult to survive this way in elementary school, and even in the sixth grade Maedhros had no problem sitting by himself reading all through lunch and recess, but suddenly at the beginning of this year, the rumours had started. Maedhros was an alien, he was an abuse victim, he didn’t actually speak English at all, they went on and on, and recently, the latest consensus was that Maedhros (that tall red-haired weirdo who hasn’t even asked a girl out yet) is gay. 

“Fag,”

“Sissy,”

“Deviant,” they are hurled at him from across the hallways, slipped on bits of lined paper into his backpack and locker, even hissed through closed lips while teachers are present. Perhaps the taunts have only gotten so bad this year because Maglor is finally in middle school with him. Maglor who is funny and popular and has never even questioned his own sexuality in the ways that Maedhros sometimes does. 

Is he gay? Maedhros isn’t sure. He has never kissed anyone beyond his direct family and the question plagues him. Each time someone whispers a new taunt or giggles break out behind him, Maedhros finds himself thinking back on so many moments and questioning himself. He might be gay, he is not sure. 

He knows that is no reason for anyone else to laugh. It is his life, his issue, why do the other children insist upon turning one (questionable) aspect of his person into the single trait that defines his entire image?   
Unlike Maglor, when he exits the car he looks back at his father, who sits alone in the big van, looking oddly out of place as he smiles at Maedhros encouragingly,

“It’s Wednesday, so don’t forget to pick up your brothers on the way home.” He calls out the window as if Maedhros has ever forgotten such a thing in his life. Math facts may slip through his mind like a sieve, but remembering to look after his brothers, to change Junior’s diaper, to help Celegorm with his homework, to pick up new books for Caranthir from the library, these things he has never forgotten. Maedhros nods in confirmation to his father and then turns around and steels himself for the day. As long as he keeps a straight face and pretends that none of it bothers him, the teasing and laughter will only last so long. All the other rumours wore off in the end, this too will have a conclusion if only he can keep calm.

It makes the bearing so much harder when he worries their ‘insults’ might be the truth, that perhaps there is something wrong with him (because how could it not be wrong?), something that makes him different, sort of like a disease where everyone he touches is in danger of contamination. Maedhros wants nothing less than to be marked as the other, but he knows he already is. 

Maglor has disappeared down the sixth-grade wing by the time Maedhros enters the building, leaving him alone in the white-washed hallway with the red and gold mural on one wall reading,

‘Tirion Middle School, building the world of tomorrow.’ He hunches his shoulders forwards to keep the straps of his backpack from sliding down and makes his way down the hall, eyes on the ground. 

The library, he has found, is often nearly empty before school starts; most of his fellow students have gravitated to the cafeteria or the large slab of empty concrete behind the school which marks their ‘playground’ space. As such, it is quiet and cosy, allowing Maedhros relative privacy as he chooses a book from their meagre collection (he has read nearly all of them at this point) and drops his heavy bag by a large squishy orange chair. At most, there are ten minutes before the starting bell rings and he will have to leave his sanctuary in the library in exchange for the aggressive business of the locker hallway. 

Some days, Maedhros manages to find his way out of the pages of his book before the bell rings, walking the empty halls and getting to his locker in advance of the pushing and shoving crowds of children that will flood through the hallway the moment the electronic, ear-piercing shriek of the period bell rings. Today, however, he has only just settled down with his book, curled in the orange chair in his own little bubble of peace before it rings, his eyes torn from the pages as another bolt of anxiety pierces his stomach. Maedhros reluctantly replaces the book onto its shelf and stands, pulling his bag back up onto his shoulders with a small grunt of effort. It seems, in the five months since school started that the effort it takes to lug the backpack around from place to place has tripled since years prior. 

Through the big clear windows of the library, he can see his classmates flying past the glass, chattering and gesturing and laughing, It seems as if a wall of sound precedes them, a sonic boom that leaves Maedhros hovering in the doorway, looking for a nonexistent opening into their world of noise and movement. Pushing out between two groups in the infinitesimal space between, he is swept along by the crowd of children, inextricably moving forwards to the stairs and the day beyond.  
Maglor would say there is a rhythm to the movements, to each section of the day, a slow song being build over the hours of each day, and sometimes when they get home he will sit silently in the living room with his fingers flying over the strings of his latest instrumental conquest: violin. The song will weave together seemingly of its own accord, and sometimes Maedhros can hear it, that elusive meaning behind each day that Maglor seems to hear without trying.

At the moment, it is just a tangle, a maze, an undefinable jumble of emotions and smells none of which are good. Maedhros tugs the straps of his bag a little tighter and risks a quick glance around over the heads of everyone around him. Beyond all of his other flaws, he had to be cursed with a height that now rivals his own father’s. His limbs feel too long and awkward, and he sticks out like a sore thumb standing a head above even the tallest in his grade. It is impossible to miss him as he walks along, and Maedhros is unsurprised when he hears a snigger behind him and a yell of,

“All hail, the Mae the gay has arrived!” There is a burst of laughter from what feels like everyone within his (admittedly small) earshot laughs at that and Maedhros ducks his head again, folding in on himself and trying to get smaller. Perhaps if he weren’t cursed with the genes that gave him his height and flaming hair there would not be so much opportunity for teasing. He is like a beacon, calling all of the mean-spirited jokes and absorbing them deep into his skin where they refuse to go away, instead, coming back to him in the depths of his sleep and ingraining themselves into his sense of reality. 

It doesn’t matter, Maedhros reminds himself sternly, If you can just keep your stupid mouth shut, this will go away too. Somewhere ahead of him, Maedhros spots Maglor for a moment, the top of his head bouncing up and down, almost indistinguishable from those around him. What he wouldn’t give to blend in, to be able to reach out and make friends, to not be treated like a piece of rotting meat by everyone around him. 

Tugging his backpack straps back over his shoulder, Maedhros takes in a deep breath and walks the last few feet to his locker, unsurprised to find --when he opens it-- three folded up pieces of paper lying on its base. He has not bothered opening them since June of his seventh-grade year. Instead, they are shoved deep into a pocket of his backpack which is slowly filling with the folded unread insults, waiting for a day when he is strong enough to read them and hear whatever his fellow students thought was so important but felt unable to say to his face.

Maedhros is unsure that such a day will ever come. These are the same people who call him sub-human, a mistake, an abnormality. What could they think to tell him that is worse than that?

Glancing down at his watch, he pulls out a binder and two pencils, shoving one into his pocket, just in case, and keeping the other in his hand as he shuts the locker behind him and --head down, shoulders in-- hurries down the hall and towards his math class. 

Behind him, the door bounces off of his backpack strap, hanging out of the bottom of his locker, and swings open again, but Maedhros doesn’t notice as he makes his way towards the classroom, bent only on reaching the door before anyone else has the opportunity to notice him. Maedhros ducks into the classroom, glancing around to make sure the teacher is there before taking his seat and flashing her a small smile,

“Good morning Ms Fisher, “ he says, hoping his voice sounds more upbeat than it seems to in his own head, and the young teacher looks up from her desktop, giving him a light smile in return,

“Good morning Maedhros. How was your weekend?” Maedhros shrugs, thinking back over the last two days. Caranthir had punched a hole in his bedroom wall, Celegorm broke Maglor’s speaker because of his,

“Shit music fucking everything up,” and Junior had spent nearly three hours straight in absolute silence until Maedhros went into his bedroom to finish the English essay he was supposed to have handwritten and found his brother chewing on the half-dissolved remains of his nearly finished work. 

“It was good,” he lies, and when she motions for him to elaborate, Maedhros fumbles for a moment, searching the depths of his mind for something that actually had gone right.

“Uh… My brother Maglor --you know he’s in sixth grade, right?-- he had a band recital, so I went and watched him. He was really good.” He says finally, not mentioning the fact that he was the only one there because of Celegorm’s inconveniently timed soccer game and Junior’s absolute refusal to get dressed, and Ms Fisher nods,

“But he doesn’t play with the school band, does he?” Maedhros nods,  
“Yeah, he plays with the school, but he also does private lessons with a college professor my dad hired, so he has extra stuff to do for that.” People have begun filing into the class behind him, and Maedhros shifts awkwardly in his chair as they clump into social groups, girls giggling at an ear-piercingly high pitch, and boys slumping into their seats, half awake. He is relieved when Ms Fisher turns away from him, offering a perfunctory, 

“That’s wonderful,” before saying to the class at large, “Seats please, did anyone else do something noteworthy over the weekend? I will not be accepting ‘homework’ as an answer.” Maedhros cringes slightly, thinking about the English essay he still has not written. 

There are a few raised hands and a few stories which (in Maedhros’s mind) are much funnier and more pleasant than anything that has happened to him in the last month. One recounting in particular --made by a girl named Naminde— has the whole class laughing, though Maedhros cannot help but think she is not as funny as everyone seems to think she is. How could she possibly be funny at all when it was she who began the schoolwide joke of ‘Maedhros the gay’? Still, no one else seems to care, and Ms Fisher moves on with the class, introducing what feels like the one-hundredth new topic this year that Maedhros cannot seem to understand. Math, with the multitudes of symbols and methods and constraints, feels like a whole separate language into which Maedhros has been thrown headfirst without any sort of understanding of its rules.

He scribbles the figures onto paper, solves, repeatedly gets the wrong answer, and internally berates himself. It seems so obvious when she writes it on the board, and yet somehow Maedhros cannot seem to translate that moment of understanding after seeing the explanation for each problem into mastery of the concept itself. 

“Any questions?” Ms Fisher asks, and Maedhros should raise his hand, should ask for that one last rule that will throw everything into perspective and fit all the pieces together, but from somewhere in the back of the room, he hears whispers, and when he goes to lift his hand it feels like there is a brick wall built around it, preventing him from even shifting his fingers. 

“No.” He choruses with the rest of the room, staring in incomprehension at his own rebellious arm and wondering if he will ever understand the symbols that combine to form math. 

“Alright, I’ll pass back the tests from last week. As usual, I will give you all the range of scores, and anyone who falls below a seventy in this test will be allowed to retake it. There aren’t many of you, I’m quite pleased with how well you all are doing.” She tells them with a smile, pulling a thick stack of the light orange paper they use to take tests. Maedhros forces his heart to calm a fraction from the harsh beat it had been performing in his chest, fear gripping his insides like an iron first. 

This test matters more than the others: It will either bring his grade back to an acceptable B+ or it will ruin him and he will have to tell his father and mother he needs a tutor. Ms Fisher moves slowly through the rows of desks, passing back each test and explaining that next, they will be going over the most commonly incorrect questions. Maedhros’s hands are clenched in his lap, his face calm as his heart thumps at a thousand beats per minute deep inside of his chest, making his vision slightly blurry. She stops in front of him, sliding his test down onto the desk without a word, and moving on to the next student. 

Silent, Maedhros wishes she would give him some sign about whether the papers were safe to turn over, whether he should get it over with now or wait for somewhere more private where he is able to be paralyzed with terror and tears alone with no eyes upon him. Ms Fisher does not do any such thing, and Maedhros is left to turn over his test, burying his face close to it so that no one else can look over his shoulder and see the grade written on the paper right-hand corner. 

71.

Maedhros’s breath stops in his throat for a moment, his entire chest squeezing so tight he sees black spots in front of him, and then he flips the test back over, pretending to listen as Ms Fisher begins her explanations. In his ears, all there is is static, emptiness, and a pulse the same abnormally fast rate as his heart. Somehow, he manages to raise his hand and ask to use the bathroom, somehow he manages to exit the room and make it across the hall before his mind splits in two and he leans back against the wall, trying to remember how to breathe and see. 

Vaguely, he can feel his hands shaking, and cold sweat pouring down his neck, but mostly it is just the enraged screams of the voices inside his head, reminding him that he has well and truly fucked up. Maedhros will have to get a tutor. He will have to tell his father. Another failure; besides the labels of ‘Sissy’ and ‘Fag’, he can add ‘Idiot’ to the mix as well. 

The bell rings, but Maedhros cannot seem to move, stuck frozen against the wall as the halls beyond him fill with noise.

What will they think of you when they find out?

If only you hadn’t been such a coward, maybe then you might have actually learned something.

This is all your fault, Maedhros. 

All your fault. It is always his fault. His fault when Celegorm falls and skins his knee, his fault when Junior doesn’t get dessert, his fault when Caranthir has a tantrum and breaks everything within eyesight, it is always, always, always his fault. 

Maedhros pushes away from the wall and ducks back across the hallway, snatching his binder and pencil from the top of his desk and darting out again before Ms Fisher has the opportunity to say anything. After all, she will only tell him what he already knows: it is his fault. Clutching the grey-blue binder to his chest, Maedhros walks quickly down the hall back to his locker, eyes on the floor to keep the world from seeing just how watery they are. Most people have already moved on to their next class, but there are a few minutes before the bell rings and a few stragglers hang around, an oddly large clump centred around his licker. His locker, which Maedhros realizes is open. 

Seeing him approach, the clump quickly disperses, chatting too loudly to be genuine and pretending as if nothing has happened, but Maedhros can already see this is fake. The door of his locker is wide open and there are shreds of paper trailing out from its base. The second bell rings as he drops to his knees in front of it, intending to ignore the mess, take his folder for science and run to class, but instead he simply places his binder on top of what once was his pristine backpack. 

Now, every paper in every folder has been shredded to pieces, his carefully penned notes ripped into bits so tiny he is sure he will never be able to put them back together. They are strewn over the bottom of his locker, spilling out into the hall in front of it, and Maedhros sees all of his hidden notes, so purposefully shoved out of sight and mind, taped open to the back of the locker.

“Get out of our school you freak.”

“No one wants you here.”

“I hope your parents are pissed they have you for a kid.” Maedhros’s eyes are drawn from one to the next, the words filling his lungs piece by piece, settling in his chest like rocks until he is struggling to keep himself upright under the weight of each letter pressing down and keeping the breaths he takes from making any difference what so ever. Beneath the pinned up notes someone has scrawled ‘fag’ in messy handwriting, the marker a hot pink which -- when Maedhros wipes at it-- refuses to come off. 

His hands move on their own, ignoring the fact that he is missing class, and his time would be better spent simply moving on. The tape is removed, the scraps gathered into handfuls. Maedhros makes fourteen trips back and forth to the bathroom trash can in order to get all of the paper out of his locker, yet no matter what he does ‘Fag’ refuses to be wiped away. 

There is no point, he thinks, in going to history class at all. That homework he had planned to hand in, colour coded in greens and blues, is gone just like every other piece of classwork and homework he has amassed so far this year. All of that seems to have vanished in an instant leaving behind not a trace to indicate it was ever there. And yet, in front of him, the word shines out in an aggressive shade of pink, unable to be removed or hidden. Maedhros is an abomination. Everyone knows that.


	2. Who We Must Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried.... I tried so hard to make this one the ending, but I just couldn’t figure out how to make it happy without oversimplifying and sidelining all the emotions going on here, so I am adding another chapter after this one for a hopeful resolution. Enjoy more sads!

Wednesdays, Maedhros’ father is at work late managing all of the new responsibilities of taking over Grandpa Finwë’s job at the company. His mother is busy teaching pottery classes at the local art studio, and Maedhros is left in charge. Today, he stands alone and silent outside of the middle school watching Maglor exit, surrounded by a cloud of friends. He is laughing, violin case and backpack each slung over a shoulder as he makes his way out of the big front door of the school. Maedhros checks his watch, one foot tapping nervously on the concrete below him as Maglor takes longer than any one person should need to exit a building as jokes and childish innuendo fly from one mouth to another among the large group of sixth-graders. 

They will need at least thirty minutes to walk across town to Mithirm Elementary, and another ten to get from there to Ms Varyisse’s house down the road from their own where Junior spends the afternoons playing. As it is, Maglor is pushing dangerously close towards the sort of lateness that will have them running to make it anywhere in time. 

Maedhros lets out a long low sigh and propels himself forwards, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he walks quickly in Maglor’s direction and trying to much happier and more confident than he is. Maglor and his friends seem oddly intimidating as he makes his way alone towards them, larger than life and howling with companionable laughter that Maedhros has not been able to share with anyone since his earlier years of elementary school,

“Ooh, hide your dicks guys,” A flinty-eyed boy jeers as he approaches, “It’s Mae the gay!” This comment, as per usual, is met with shouts of approval, and when Maedhros looks up he sees even Maglor laughing along with the others. His mouth feels dry and swollen as he says quietly,

“Káno, it’s time to go,” And turns, not waiting for a response before walking away. He doesn’t manage to move fast enough, though, because as he retreats he hears all of the goodbyes and the snort of laughter his brother lets out as another friend yells after them,

“Don’t forget to lock your door before you go to sleep, you never know who could sneak in.” Maedhros shoves his hands deep into his pockets as if to ward off the chill of the early spring air, but really he is hiding them from sight as they curl into fists in his pockets, trembling as he blinks rapidly, trying to pretend it is just the brisk cold breeze that brings the tears to his eyes. 

Somehow the fact that even kids two years younger than himself have joined in the school sport of “Mae the gay” ridicule does not seem at all relevant when placed side by side with the laughter of his younger brother. Maglor, who he taught to play the piano, who he tells his every secret because he thought he could trust his brother. 

Clearly, Maedhros thinks, he was wrong.  
But there is no time to stop and think, it is Wednesday, and he now has twenty minutes to complete a thirty-minute walk, so without looking behind himself to check if Maglor really is following, Maedhros hurries towards the street, hands tight and fisted in his pockets and pretending that everything is fine. He doesn’t even realize that he is running until Maglor’s puffing out of breath voice calls out from behind him,

“Nelyo, wait up, I can’t go that fast with my violin.” Maedhros glances behind himself, vision blurred slightly, then slows just a fraction so that his forward motion can actually be classified as walking instead of jogging. Maglor’s face is red and he is clutching his violin to his front to keep it from bumping up and down on his back as his school bag does. Normally, Maedhros might apologise and offer to carry it for him, but today he keeps his mouth shut and his hands buried deep in his pockets as Maglor falls into place beside him. He does not trust himself to open his mouth, for fear of what will come out of it.

An unnatural silence, heavy and hard, falls as Maglor takes in gulps of air and Maedhros walks quickly, eyes on the ground, hoping that by leaving the school behind he will also leave behind whoever this new person is that his brother has decided to become.

And yet, though the silence has stretched out for longer than Maedhros can ever remember his brother having been quiet before, Maedhros still gulps in a deep breath and pushes ahead of Maglor with long strides when his brother finally reaches out for Maedhros’ hand, as he always has and probably always will do. Maedhros cringes away, shoving his arms deeper inside the pockets of his winter coat, which even against the cold wind has left him sweating slightly.

“Look, Nelyo, I’m sorry,” Maglor says, reaching out again, but Maedhros only grunts and keeps walking, hands hidden out of sight as Maglor’s two bags bounce along heavily on his back,

“That was a really crummy thing to say in front of you, and I was wrong to laugh at it but--” Maedhros snorts,

“In front of me? Yeah Macalaurë, that’s definitely what I’m mad about. Just that you fucking laughed in front of me.” Maglor looks confused and slightly panicked,

“No, that’s that’s not what I meant at all!” He cries, but Maedhros is done listening,

“Don’t worry, I get it. It’s fine. We all have our own priorities,” He says cooly, and checks his watch again, cutting off Maglor’s inevitable retort,

“Come on, we’ve only got ten minutes left.” Maglor, however, seems dissatisfied with this,

“No, Nelyo, I didn’t do it because I wanted to upset you, I just wanted to fit in. Daeron is super cool and we’ve been getting along really well because he does band too, and he’s the one that keeps making jokes about you, so I figured if I just went along with it…” He trails off appearing to realize he is not helping his own case by continuing to talk,

“Yeah,” Maedhros mutters, “I know all about trying to fit in. Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. Like I said.”   
They are almost to the Elementary school and Maedhros reaches deep inside of himself, pushing all of the hurt and the anger down into a little bottle and pulling out what tiny shreds of false happiness and love he has left. 

After all, there is no reason to burden Celegorm and Caranthir when they are sure to have had a perfectly good day. It is only ever he who seems to experience the bad ones. 

They stand, silent and small among the crowd of tall chattering parents who wait for the final bell to ring

“Nelyo,” Maglor says again, shifting his bags on his shoulders and reaching again for his brother’s hand, though this time Maedhros lets him take it, if only so that he doesn’t feel like quite so much of an outlier in this world where he has no place. 

“I really am sorry,” He whispers, and Maedhros just shrugs,

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He responds firmly, and Maglor’s fingers squeeze his own tighter. It is not fair, not even to Maglor to take out all of the anger of his terrible day on one person. Maglor could not know about the catastrophe his morning had been, he could not know about the hot pink marker in his locker spelling out the truth for all the world. Maglor didn’t and would never know a thousand things that Maedhros hated about himself and questioned every day, so it was useless to pretend that he was the source of all those problems. 

Easier, perhaps, to simply ignore them and shove them downwards into the tiny bottle inside of him where every unproductive thought is stored. The bell rings, and a crowd of children spills out the front door, ordered lines with teachers trying to count their classes disregarded as they push forwards already running off towards busses and sidewalks and parents. Celegorm smashes into his legs with the force of a bulldozer, nearly knocking Maedhros off his feet,

“Hey, Nelyo!” He yells, oblivious to the parents around them who take a step away, no doubt repelled by both the absurdly loud tone of his voice and the fact that he looks to have rolled in mud at some point in the last hour. 

“Hi, Tyelko.” He says automatically, a fake cheerful smile rising as smoothly to his face as a real one would,

“What happened to you?” Maglor asks in horror, staring down at Celegorm’s half-dry mud-caked clothes, and Celegorm grins cheerfully,

“It rained last night and the football field was muddy.”

“So you went and bathed in it?” Maglor asks, a disgusted frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, and Celegorm shakes his head with a feral grin,

“I didn’t bathe in it, we played!” he explains and then captures Maglor in a hug that somehow rubs off nearly all of the mud onto his brother’s front. Maglor makes an outraged sound that makes him look like he is going to throw up, and Maedhros internally smirks, simultaneously proud of Celegorm, and disgusted that he would turn against Maglor in such a way. 

“Nelyo!” Maglor says, indignant, but Maedhros is spared having to respond by the arrival of Caranthir, who sulks over in his black jeans and big puffy coat with a scowl on his features. Kneeling, Maedhros pulls him into a hug and is surprised when the boy actually responds, reaching up to squeeze his arms tight around his brother’s neck,

“You okay, Moryo?” Maedhros asks softly, making sure neither of their brothers can hear, and Caranthir gifts him with the slightest shake of his head in response. Maedhros checks his watch again over his brother’s shoulder and lets out a worried sigh,

“Okay, let’s talk about it when we get home, yes?” He lets out a groan at the heaviness of his school bag as he pushes himself back to his feet and takes Caranthir’s hand which for once his brother holds back tightly. Maglor is attempting to brush himself off, and Celegorm is standing proudly, trying not to laugh,

“Come on, you two, we have to go get Junior,” Maedhros says, letting Celegorm push through the crowd ahead of them, clearing a little path through which the others can file, Maglor still looking absolutely revolted with every aspect of his situation. 

Celegorm chatters aimlessly, telling them everything from how he refused to answer a question the teacher asked him,

“And I said ‘fuck that’ and she threatened to put me in detention, but that’s just stupid ‘cause I know they don’t have detention at this ass-shit school,” To a new art project that he and a friend are working on,

“We’re gonna see how big she’ll let us make it and then we’re gonna take it home and smash it on the driveway!” Maedhros is glad for the distraction because Celegorm’s presence leaves no room for anything else as he rants about meaningless details, and Maedhros finds that the longer they walk, the more Caranthir’s hand loosens around his own. He wishes that the internal hurricane of his emotions would be dispelled so easily. They pass their own house and Maglor breaks away, telling everyone he needs to,

“Take a shower to get Tyelkormo’s shit off me,” And Celegorm joins him, no doubt to go and get himself dirtier by rolling around with the dog in the backyard. 

It is quiet without the two of them there to set the tone, and Maedhros feels Caranthir’s hand once again tightens around his as the silence leads each of them back to his own brooding thoughts that were so close to dispelled by the presence of Celegorm’s all-encompassing desire to talk. 

“Nelyo?” He says quietly, and Maedhros squeezes his hand once in recognition, humming in response,

“I don’t want to go back to school tomorrow.” He whispers, and even in the quiet street, Maedhros almost misses it. Caranthir’s dark eyes are peering up towards him, stained golden by the sunlight, and his hair blows around him in the wind. He looks like something out of a painting, and for a moment Maedhros’ heart sinks. Here is another for him to sew back together before he can climb into bed and tumble downwards into the dark hole floating beneath him

“Why? Did something happen?” Maedhros asks, sure he already knows the answer to that question. Caranthir is his only brother so far who matches his enthusiasm in academics, and he wouldn’t choose to avoid it unless something truly terrible had occurred. Caranthir --as expected-- nods and squeezes Maedhros’ hand a little tighter. Maedhros checks his watch for what feels like the hundredth time, but for once, they are not late, so he stops, kneeling so that he can see eye to eye with his little brother,

“Do you want to tell me? You don’t have to, but if you want to, I’m here.” His heart contracts in his chest, and it is too painful to breathe in the silence. 

These are the words he prays each night someone will say to him, yet so far no one has. His mother smiles lovingly and tells him how proud she is, his father gruffly commands each success, yet there are no questions, none of the probes that could breath his carefully perfected illusions. He wishes they would. He is terrified they will.

Maedhros forces his lungs to contract, to expand, and waits until Caranthir moves a little closer and leans into Maedhros’ arms as they move automatically upwards to wrap around him, steadied by the weight of the little boy.

“We wrote an au- aubigrafy,” He says and Maedhros gives a tiny huff of a laugh into his ear,

“Autobiography?” Caranthir nods, blushing slightly,

“Yeah. We were supposed to say three things we liked to do, but I don’t really have anything I like to do, so the teacher said I could put down people too, but then the girl who sits next to me told her I don’t have any friends and-” He presses his face into Maedhros’ coat and Maedhros hugs him tightly, staying quiet until he has calmed slightly. Caranthir has not cried at all since he was a baby, instead, simply turning red and sitting frozen in place with every muscle in his body clenched until he feels calm again. Maedhros wishes he could say the same. As Caranthir begins to relax in Maedhros’ arms, Maedhros speaks gently,

“That was a pretty mean thing to say to you, huh?” He asserts, and Caranthir nods vigorously, pulling back so that he can glare at Maedhros,

“But it’s true. I don’t have any friends. Not like Celegorm and Maglor. Nobody likes me.” Maedhros wipes a bit of hair off of his forehead and shakes his head,

“That’s not true at all Moryo, I like you a whole lot.” He says, and Caranthir scowls,

“But you’re my brother, you can’t be my friend too.” He explains, and Maedhros pretends this does not hurt him. If family cannot be friends then he is truly alone.

“Of course I can!” He retorts, not sure if this comment is more reassuring to Caranthir or himself. The little boy looks confused, and Maedhros leans in, pulling Caranthir into his arms as he stands up, conscious of the fact that they are supposed to be picking up their youngest brother at this very moment, 

“That’s the whole point of having brothers.” It comes out in a whisper, but Caranthir gives him a tentative smile, the first Maedhros has seen on his brother’s face in years, and he grins back, the muscles in his face aching with the effort of the act. Tomorrow he will have to go back and face the jeering and name-calling again, and he is terrified of that: not being strong enough to stand up to them, the possibility that their taunts might be the truth, and his entire body seizes up with the effort that it takes to not drop his brother and run for the nearest locked room where all of his emotions can explode at once without the threat of hurting or scaring anyone else. And yet, Caranthir is curled into his chest, a steady and reassuring weight against his racing heart. 

It does not matter than it is Wednesday and he is alone, what matters is the little boy in his arms, feeling all the pain he does, and Maedhros knows he has to protect Caranthir from the rest of the world. That is why he is here, to take their troubles as his own and leave them weightless while he slowly sinks into the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The football Celegorm references is the European kind not the American kind. I don’t know any elementary school that has an American football field.
> 
> I promise I will try my best to fix our baby in the next chapter.


	3. What We Can Carry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy it's finally done, took a while because my motivation dropped to about 0 for a week, but not I am having all the negative emotions so hey, at least I'm writing! This is the last chapter, but if you want to hear about Caranthir the socially awkward first-grader, go check out this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24560155

t takes a full half an hour to wrestle Junior out the door, and when they finally manage it, it is only because Maedhros has his brother slung over one shoulder and Caranthir’s fingers are shoved deep in his ears as the little boy screams, punching at Maedhros’ shoulder blades while his tiny feet bounce up and down, leaving dirt marks on the front of his shirt. 

Either he is purposefully hurting Maedhros (which is probably the more likely option) or Junior has yet to learn that he finally has enough strength amassed into his little chubby limbs to leave actual bruises on Mae’s skin. 

“No, no, no, no, no!” He shrieks from Maedhros’ shoulder, “I wanna go back, no home!” Maedhros squeezes his lips tight together and ignores this, instead, forcing a smile from his unwilling mouth and somehow managing to thank their neighbour in a civil tone. 

His screaming does not decrease by a single decibel until they once again reach their own house and Maedhros lowers him to the ground, letting Junior fall backwards and land on his bottom on the path, still sobbing and now scratching at Maedhros’ ankles --the closest available body part-- with his too sharp nails. In the driveway, his mother’s car sits, presumably having returned early from her class. Maedhros’ breath releases in an exhale of relief for the first time since the weekend, pushing open the front door without a backwards glance and making for the stirs as fast as he can, his schoolbag still bumping left and right across his shoulders.

It is all too much, and there are some days Maedhros simply is not big enough to contain everything that he is trying to hide inside himself. He is supposed to be strong, to take care of his brothers, to be reliable and responsible, but right now he feels like none of these things. Maedhros locks the door to his bedroom behind him and takes a deep shaky breath as his bag slides from his shoulders to land on the floor with a hollow thunk.

Junior has scratched through the top layer of his skin and there is a tiny line of blood welling up in the crescent shape of his nails in three different places on his left leg. The hot pink marker spelling out “Fag” inside his locker is burning behind his eyes, from down the hall, Maglor’s laugher echoes from behind his closed door and Maedhros can only hear all the nicknames and threats and teasing and hate, and he collapses backwards onto his bed, knees curled up and into himself as waves upon waves of unworthiness crash down upon him, slamming his heart into the rocks and tearing it into pieces, left out and rotting for the seagulls to pick away at their leisure. Maedhros is left with nothing but the pounding of his own heart and an overwhelming feeling of suffocation pressing downwards against his throat, while he gulps at air that is too far away to absorb and there is moisture on his cheeks.

For a moment, Maedhros has the absurd thought that it must be raining, and then he realizes the water on his face must be from his own eyes. Some day’s it is too much, but today it is so far from anything he has ever felt before that it seems the entire weight of the universe has centred itself on his sternum and if he dares to move an inch he will be crushed under the nothingness that he is and--

“Nelyo, darling, may I come in?” Maedhros’ heart stops somewhere dangerously close to the top of his throat, the thumping reverberating through the depths of his brain as his breath comes shallow and fast, eyes fixed upon a point too far in the distance for him to actually see.

“N-no.” he manages, his voice high and shaking, the words sounding sharp and too-loud to his silence soaked brain, where even the barely audible sound of birds beyond the windowpane is like a nail, slowly hammering itself into his skull. 

“I’m doing homework, Mom, please just leave me alone.” His throat hurts and he cannot move, because all that weight is still poised just above him, ready to drop at any moment,

“I just want to check in, Macalaurë said you didn’t have a great day?” Maedhros laughs, light-headed and slightly hysterical because he has never heard such an over-simplification come out of his mother’s mouth, has never even imagined that how he feels right now --poised on the edge of a cliff and ready to jump at the drop of a pin-- could simply be categorized as ‘not having a great day’. 

“No, I’m fine mom, how are you?” The words fall from his lips in a voice so high and cracking he doesn’t even recognise it as his own, the words rushed and blended half-way together. There is a slight pause, and then his mother, says very gently,

“Nelyo, baby, could you please open the door for me, I just want to talk about your day, sweetie, that’s it.” The too fast breaths are still coming, and Maedhros stares at the door, willing it to open itself, and wishing with all his might he hadn’t locked it upon entering. It is simply, too much of a risk to move from where he is right now: there are too many factors, too many things that could go wrong. 

Still, his mother is waiting beyond the door, and Maedhros has still not figured out the all-powerful secret to refusing his parents anything,

“Sure,” he whispers, just loud enough to know that she can hear him, and pushes himself up with both arms, suddenly unable to hear anything at all beyond a low static that he filled his brain to the top like the humming of a thousand angry flies. Arms tight around his middle to ward of the crushing suffocation he is sure will fall on him at any moment, but it never comes. Maedhros’ fingers feel even colder than the metal doorknob as he unlocks it and opens the door just enough to let his mother know she can come in. 

He feels safer, somehow, once his feet are back off the floor curled up beneath him back on his bed. Nerdanel’s footsteps follow him, and he feels the bed sink slightly as she places herself beside him, reaching one arm up to pull his own away from where they have locked around his knees, pulling himself into a tiny ball. Her skin feels warm and real as she pulls him towards her and, all strength gone, Maedhros collapses into her side, his entire body shuddering with the force of the sobs he has fought down all day. 

One hand traces small circles on his upper back, the other gripping his own as Nerdanel murmurs into his ear, words that Maedhros cannot hear over the force of his own crying. 

“Matimo, sweetheart, beautiful, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Maedhros considers shaking his head for a moment, pulling away from her and burrowing back into the safety of his bed and the knowledge that no one cares, but he can’t. Not when Nerdanel is holding him gently against her and he can feel her love and care and worry as if it were his own, all right up there against his skin in the rhythm of her heart. 

“‘S nothing Mom, ‘m sorry.” He mumbles instead, not quite an answer but not a refusal either. 

“My love, nothing that makes you cry will ever in any world be nothing to me.” He replies gently, rubbing another smooth circle into his back, and Maedhros wonders why, if this is true, she has not asked before. There have been so many times he has cried, so many times he has hated himself, and a million moments when he has questioned why he is alive if this is all he was born to feel. 

“I was just being stupid, it’s not a big deal.” he insists, hoping she will give it up, because now, suddenly, he is too scared to say anything more. To expose his heart --Maedhros feels-- would be equivalent to signing his own death warrant. There is so much trapped in there that if even one little bit is allowed to escape it will invariably trigger an explosion so large Maedhros’ body will have no chance of survival. 

“Nelyo,” she says softly, and there is a sudden burst of pure fear deep in Maedhros’ gut, so intense that it stops his heart. She knows, she must know, and this means he will have to tell.

“You weren’t being stupid, baby. Please let me into your beautiful brain, let me hear what’s going on in there.” His brain, Maedhros’ brain. All of this always comes back to his brain and something that must have gone wrong in there. There must be a glitch, a mistake, something wrong in there that is forcing everything that he feels to feel so real. Maedhros clutches Nerdanel’s hand, willing his mouth to open, for something to come out, and when it does it feels as if all his self-control has been pushed aside and he is sitting in a copilot seat as a part of him he didn’t even realize existed takes centre stage without his permission.

“I can’t get it off my locker.” That is what comes out, and Maedhros realizes with horror this statement must seem nonsensical to his mother and he will now have to tell the whole story. 

“You can’t what?” She asks, obviously bewildered, and Maedhros feels his chest clench as he looks up at her, scared of what he will find in her eyes, and positive that there will be disappointment, disgust, and a thousand other emotions that Maedhros has in droves when they are directed towards himself. 

“I dunno, Mom,” he whispers, “I failed my math test again and now I’m gonna have to repeat math next ear and I can’t do it and then some kids wrote stuff in my locker and Maca—” he cuts himself off quickly before he can say too much, but Nerdanel’s fingers squeeze his softly,

“What did they write?” She asks, voice hesitant, “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, love, but we should find someone you can talk to if it’s hurting you.” Maedhros tries to imagine saying this to another person, anyone at all, and he can’t, so instead, he tries to steady his breaths and replies,

“They said I was gay and that was bad and they wanted me to leave and stuff.” He says, his voice trembling slight and the words blending into one another as he hurries them out of his mouth. Nerdanel blinks, obviously not having expected to hear that particular reply, and her fingers tighten around his hand and shoulder, her expression hardening by a fraction of a degree. 

Maedhros’ mind reels, backtracking as fast as he can. He knew opening up was a mistake, why hadn’t he listened to while he still had time to escape? But then Nerdanel says,

“Maitimo, is this the first time something like this has happened?” And Maedhros’ head once again shakes without any of his approval,  
“Why didn’t you tell me before, baby?” She questions and Maedhros looks her fully in the eyes, his heart up in his throat because he cannot bear to disappoint another person. 

In her eyes, he sees only worry and love as she pulls him tighter against her, her arms shaking slightly. Maedhros’ eyes well up with tears again, and he feels muscles he didn’t even know he had tensed relax in his back until he is a motionless blob against her, held up only by the force of what he saw in her eyes,

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, “Family is more important than what other kids think about me.” 

“No, Nelyo, family is not more important. Nothing is more important than how you feel and who you are and who you want to be. I know we expect a lot of you, taking care of your brothers and getting them home some days, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel sad and angry and upset, and that doesn’t mean you should try to suppress those feelings and just keep going. You are human, we all are, and no one should ever feel like other people matter more than themselves.” Maedhros sniffs, rubbing angrily at his eyes, because how could he cry, how could he press more onto his mothers back when she already has so much to carry?

“But it’s my fault, they would think that stuff if it wasn’t true, and I know I’m messed up and wrong and-”

“Maitimo Nelyafinwë Russandol Noldoran, there is not a single messed up wrong thing in your body. I don’t care what the other kids tell you is right and wrong, I don’t care if they think you’re the worst person on the planet, no one has the right to say that to my son and no one has the right to make you feel like you are the one at fault. You got that?” Maedhros nods hesitantly, though he cannot help but think that she is only one person and if even Maglor thinks he is wrong…

Downstairs the door opens, and Junior’s delighted screech can be heard even through the closed door. 

“Hello, Junior!” Fëanor’s voice is loud and boisterous, undercut my more happy shrieks from his youngest son as he gives a bark of laugher,

“Tyelkormo, I don’t want to see you walk through that screen door until you have hosed yourself down and no longer look like a monster.” Maedhros tenses once again in Nerdanel’s arms, looking up at his mother with fear once again clenching in his gut,

“Mom?” he pleads, and Nerdanel gently streaks the side of his face, humming in response,

“Please, don’t tell Dad?” She frowns, looking intently at him for a moment before nodding slowly,

“I won’t Maitimo, but we need to find someone at school you can talk to about this, okay? I don’t want you to have to deal with bullying as part of your school experience. If that means bringing your dad into it, we will, but for now, I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to.” Maedhros nods in agreement, silently vowing that no matter how bad the teasing and pain gets in the future, he will never tell her again. 

Maedhros cannot disappoint his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this! go check out the rest of my series Build Me, Love Me, Break Me, if you want more drama and Mae centric feels!

**Author's Note:**

> Naminde means 'she who judges', so I thought that one was appropriate. Carasta means 'to build' so again, appropriate for a teacher. 
> 
> I have the other chapter (and one on the side) already written, so they will be posted tomorrow.


End file.
